


a fear of heights

by Somedeepmystery



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Humor, Oral Sex, Overheard Sex, Sex, Smut, bed sharing, revenge served with burnt toast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedeepmystery/pseuds/Somedeepmystery
Summary: Napoleon Solo seems to be striving for womanizer of the year, and with his two partners sharing a room on the other side of a thin wall, will his lothario antics push the two, secretly pining spies together, or force them further apart?





	a fear of heights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DawnlitWaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnlitWaters/gifts).



> Dear DawnlitWaters, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays! I hope this is at least _something_ like what you were hoping for and that you enjoy it as well as your day. Be blessed and happy reading. :D
> 
> Title from Pilot with a Fear of Heights by The Felicity
> 
> Attempted hover over test for the German and Russian.
> 
> Much thanks so to diadema for her always amazing beta work and insights and to Turningleaf for some additional help and hand holding. :)

 

 

 

Napoleon Solo slid a hand into his jacket, withdrawing his key as his dark blue eyes trailed over the form of the woman walking in front of him. “1102,” he told her, and she looked at him over her shoulder, dark, sleek hair shifting over her back. She lifted a knowing brow, having caught him with his sights on her ass, and he returned it with a charming smile. After all, how could she expect him to resist?

She gestured toward his front door, a question on her face. He nodded, and she leaned on the wall beside it to wait for him as he approached with the key.

“This is a swell pad you’ve got here,” she said, her tawny arms folded over her chest, legs crossed at the ankle. He let his gaze travel over the length of those legs, his mind already in the future where they would be wrapped around him. “I guess you haven’t been blowing smoke at the bar.”

Daria Prost was a bartender at the local down the street. He’d made a point of establishing himself there and in several other spots, settling in as a resident. Part of his cover for this mission. He’d liked Daria from the beginning and he did prefer to like the people he slept with.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open. “I assure you,” he drawled. “I never blow smoke.” Gesturing for her to enter first, he set a broad hand on the small of her back as he followed.

She stopped just inside the lavish apartment UNCLE had set up for their use on this mission. “What happened to your couch?”

Pausing only briefly to glance at the piece of furniture, which was bowed improperly in the middle, Solo took her arm in his. “It broke.”

“Broke?”

“Yes, but my bed is delightfully _not_ broken,” he informed, leading her down the hall. “And it’s right back here.”

“What about your roommates?” she asked. “Aren’t they here?”

Solo gave her a smile, thinking of his partners for a brief moment. “Nope, not at all.” He opened the bedroom door before reaching up to cup her cheek and pull her against him for a slow, burning kiss, which he trailed over her jaw. “So you can feel at liberty to shout your little heart out.”

She scoffed but tilted her head to give him access to her throat. “So, you think you can make me shout?”

Solo pulled back with a wide, confident grin.

...

_“Oh, God.”_

The sound of the woman’s pleasured voice came through the walls, and Gaby grimaced. Beside her in the large bed, Illya was holding stock still except for the finger that was tapping out a steady rhythm on the white sheets.

_“Oh my God!”_

The unseen woman let out several more cries, and Gaby felt a flash of arousal jolt through her and snorted, crossing her arms over her chest as if to ward it off. Illya flopped abruptly over onto his stomach, snapping his pillow down over his head.

“Is he trying for Womanizer of the Year?” Gaby demanded. “He’s brought a different one home every night this week.”

Illya was quiet, his body tense. She looked at his hands clasping the pillow—big hands, long fingers—and followed the line of his exposed wrist to the place where his bicep bulged, straining the fabric of his pajama sleeve.

They were in the middle of a drawn-out mission, and, though their cover was as a married couple, the shared bed situation hadn’t originally been part of the plan. No one would be coming into their quarters so the ruse was unneeded ,and for the first two nights, Illya had voluntarily slept on the extended, scroll-armed sofa in the living room. Unfortunately, on that second night, the piece of furniture had collapsed under his weight, and he’d been sent rolling to the floor. He had apparently taken it in stride, sleeping there without complaint. The next morning, he’d been stiff-necked and taciturn with his right shoulder tight. Since they needed him in top shape if something were to happen, Gaby had thought it ridiculous to leave him sleeping on the hardwood when there were two, perfectly good, rather large beds in the apartment.

And, well, Solo’s was obviously already occupied.

It had been so all week. Gaby and Illya lying next to each other, both trying not to take up too much of the other’s space. They started out each night in parallel lines with as much space between them as was feasible. Quiet, stilted conversation that inevitably turned to tense, awkward silence as, each night, their third partner began _entertaining_ in the next room.

Each morning, no matter how they began, the two of them woke up completely entangled, legs and arms and bodies. Faces tucked into hollows of necks, hands sliding beneath the fabric of pajamas. And every morning, they broke apart quickly and didn’t speak of it the rest of the day.

It was fraying Gaby’s nerves. Illya’s too, if the way they had started snapping at each other was any indication. And since they were supposed to be portraying a happily married couple, that was a bit of a problem.

Other times, though, when they were forced close as they tried to listen in to some conversation, or when Illya would tuck her arm into his elbow so they could play their part and his fingers trailed over the palm of her hand, she would think of the mornings and be hard-pressed not to act on the desire they woke inside her.

Now more than ever, Gaby found herself overly aware of the man in the bed beside her, the scent of him on the sheets, the length and breadth of him, the weight of him on the mattress and the heat of his body. It called to hers, warmth to warmth, a phenomenon that had been between them nearly from the beginning, heightened, almost unbearably, by the antics of their lothario of a partner.

 _“Just like that.”_ A gasp _. “Ye-s–”_

Gaby’s body spasmed at the voice emanating through her walls, her core responding, her nipples drawing tight. She squeezed her hand into a fist at her side. Dealing with things herself was out of the question with Illya lying _right there_ , and she felt like she might crawl out of her skin.

_“Yes, yes, yes, yes–”_

Illya popped up from beneath his pillow, eyes a bit wild, blond hair in complete disarray. “Perhaps we should go out,” he offered. She watched him swallow then turn to her. “There is that place you like, down the street. We could get a drink. You could dance?”

His voice was a low rumble of rushed words and his look bordered on pleading. He was in as bad a state as she was. Her heart kicked up, and she imagined shoving her fingers into his messy hair and pulling him in for a kiss.

Before she could even think about her words, she said, “Maybe we should have sex.”

Illya blanched, but heat rose to his cheeks a moment after. “What?”

Nerves made her throat close. This was uncharted waters, but now that she’d thrown herself overboard, she couldn’t get the idea out of her head. She wanted him, and she was pretty sure he wanted her too, but ... things were complicated. Still, surely, they could—

“We should have sex,” she began, clearing her throat and looking at him as if this were the most natural direction for things to go. “We could both use the release, and what better way to go about it? Two partners, taking care of each other’s needs. It’s safer for us and the mission.” She gave a little shrug and glanced away. “It doesn’t have to _mean_ anything.”

Beside her, Illya had turned to stone. His eyes were wide, gray in the dim light. Gaby stared at him, felt her courage falter.

The headboard in Solo’s room began hitting the wall in a striking rhythm, timed with the woman’s cries, and they both flinched.

A sharp pang of lust cut through Gaby at the same time as rejection washed over her. She rolled away from Illya and all but flew from the bed.

“Where are you going?” 

“To the bar, as you said.” She started searching through her closet, her hands shaking slightly.

Illya seemed to sigh with relief. “I will come with you.” The sheets rustled as he pulled his blankets aside and stood up.

“No!” she snapped, not bothering to turn and look at him as she slid dress after dress aside. None of them were adequate for what she wanted. “Not with you.”

“Why not?” The tension in his voice had returned, making it into a coarse bark.

Gaby snatched up the shortest dress she found, a red one with an open back. Setting it aside, she started unbuttoning her pajama top. “I intend to get _laid_ ,” she ground out, twisting to glare at him. “And the last thing I need is a giant, Russian, _fake husband_ there to scare everyone off!”

Illya’s eyes flared. “That is bad idea.”

“I don’t _care!_ ” Her fingers fumbled with her buttons.

“You will endanger the mission,” Illya insisted, moving around the bed and coming toward her. “You endanger _yourself_. None of us know all who are involved with this! You cannot go off with some stranger to—to—” he waved his hand through the air cutting himself off.

She backed away from his approach. “I haven’t had sex since before I left Berlin, and I’m _tired_ of it. I have needs,” she hissed. “I _need_ this.” Her voice shook as the last words fell into the empty space between them.

Silence reigned for several heartbeats, and Gaby tugged her half-unbuttoned top over her head and tossed it aside, pointedly not looking at Illya as she reached for the red dress.

“ _Fine,_ ” Illya growled and moved in, scooping her abruptly into his arms. “Then it will be me.”

Gaby tried to keep breathing as his body pressed against hers, the cotton fabric of his pajamas brushing over her bare skin, heightening sensations that were already far too heightened.

“Illya?”

His jaw was a hard line, his voice gruff, more than she had ever heard it. “As you said, we are partners. This is safer.”

He laid her down in the middle of the bed and rose up over her, arms braced on either side. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling her half-naked state quite keenly now that the outrage was rushing out of her, usurped by an onslaught of nerves and uncertainty. She surveyed the length of Illya’s body above her, her gaze catching on the place where his pajamas did nothing to hide his arousal. His jaw was still tight, and she was sure he was trembling. Unbidden, she brought her hands up to his sides. “Illya?”

“It’s all right.” The anger in his voice had been replaced with gentleness, and he looked into her eyes, tender but determined. She felt her heart constrict inside her chest. “I can do this for you. I will make it better. It’s all right.”

With those words, he ducked down and kissed her chest, his breath hot on her skin. Gaby gasped and slid her hands up over his back. How long had she been thinking of having him here like this? Far too long she knew, but she had never imagined him this way. So careful and constrained. A spike of apprehension tried to war with the desire rushing through her, but when she felt the brush of Illya’s tongue, she was lost.

 

Illya’s heart lurched as he tasted the flavor of Gaby’s skin for the first time, an ache that filled his chest, seeping out to the rest of his body, and he went back for more, pressing his lips to her chest again and letting his tongue slip out to lick the salt there.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. This wasn’t how he _wanted_ things to be. To have Gaby like this? To use each other just to burn off lust? It was...

_“It doesn’t have to mean anything.”_

Her words echoed inside his head, and he faltered, resting his forehead on her collarbone. More noise from Solo’s escapades filtered in, and Illya clenched his jaw as wave of intense sexual desire surged through him.

 _Solo_. Tomorrow, he was going to—no, they needed him for the mission. When the mission was over, _then_ he would kill him. Dismantle him, piece by piece by piece... Fury welled up inside him, frustration biting at the back of his neck, but Gaby’s fingers carded into his hair, and her voice, breathless and wanting, drew him back.

“Illya, _please_.” Her voice was thready, hoarse. He heard the subtle tremor, and it was as though every cell in his body responded to it.

She needed this. That’s what she had said. The thought pinged something inside him, his overwhelming desire to care for her. He couldn’t deny that. If she needed this, he would give it to her, even if it killed him to do so. He inhaled slowly, attempting to stabilize his chaotic emotions, and dragged the tip of his nose across the breadth of her chest and down, kissing the place between her breasts before sliding the touch to her nipple, tracing the boundary of one rosy, brown areola. He dared not pull back and look at her, take her all in, enjoy the sight of her beneath him... not when he wouldn’t get to keep her.

He let his breath ghost over her skin and watched the fine hairs rise, causing gooseflesh. Fingers, rough and calloused, brushed up over her ribs to her other breast, circling, teasing until both nipples had pulled into tight peaks, and Gaby’s breathing spiked, a sharp inhale. One of her hands twisted in the fabric of his pajama top, and she exhaled his name. It seeped into his blood, branding him in a whole new way.

Illya held back the lump in his throat, the desperation that twisted with the arousal flooding his system and making him impossibly hard. He kept the whimper inside as he closed his mouth over one of her sweet, perfect nipples, feeling it hard and pebbled on his tongue. His hand cupped her other breast, stroking over the bud of it as his mouth suckled the first. The action drew a cry, muffled through drawn lips and a strained jaw as she arched into his touch. He thrilled at giving her pleasure, even as he felt himself grow slightly more mad, his hand shaking as he dragged his fingers down her side and up again.

One breast, then the other, he continued to caress her with hand and mouth until she was gasping and squirming beneath him. When her fingernails scrabbled at the back of his head, he couldn’t stop the moan that escaped, humming against her. She gave him one in return and tugged at his shirt.

“Take this off, Illya,” she demanded. “I want your skin.”

Inhaling through his nose as his body reacted to the command, the strain of desire layered in her voice, Illya drew his mouth off her nipple, tugging at it gently before letting it slide from his lips. Gaby groaned, and he found himself looking up at her face as he pulled back. She watched him through a hooded gaze, her cheeks flushed, perfect lips parted slightly as she panted in sharp, quick breaths. He wanted to kiss her. To take her mouth with his and sink inside to taste her there. But he didn’t dare give in to that impulse. He’d kissed her before, chaste cover kisses. Lies they told. He wanted these kisses to be real, and he couldn’t bring that to this undertaking. This was just another kind of lie.

He sat back on his haunches and started on his buttons. His skin, she’d said. This was about sex, about release. She wanted his skin, his cock, not _him_. He was simply the safest, most convenient choice.

As he reached the last button and peeled the shirt back off his shoulders, Gaby reached down and shoved off her bottoms. His eyes were instinctively drawn to the movement, and he stilled, captured by the sight of her as she tossed them and her underwear aside, laying back on the bed, beautifully naked in the anemic light of their room. He couldn’t stop himself from doing what he had tried to avoid before, from drinking in the sight of her. His gaze traveled up her toned, shapely legs, catching on the dark curls tucked between them. Her flat belly led up to small, pert breasts, her stubborn chin and then up to her eyes watching him.

She raised a brow. “What’s taking so long?” she asked, a playful note to her tone that should have eased him. It only reminded him that they were on two different sides of this, and his stomach twisted even as his body responded to the sight of hers.

He tossed his shirt aside and bent over her again, leaning his weight on his hands, then his elbows, lowering himself and settling between her legs as she opened them to him. She tugged at his shoulders as if trying to bring him higher, but he resisted. He couldn’t kiss her, though he wanted to, _had_ wanted to for far too long. Kissing her would mean making love to her, and that wasn’t what this was.

He _couldn’t_ kiss her.

Instead, he kissed her breasts again, warming them again after his absence. Teased and caressed them until she gave up her tugging and sank into his ministrations with a sigh. He laid a line of kisses over her ribcage and down her belly, absorbing the sound of her gasp as he pressed one to the top of those dark curls and shifted downward.

Gaby’s body tensed as he drew even with her sex, and he brought a hand to hold the outside of her leg, brushing lightly with his thumb as he kissed the silk-soft skin of her inner thigh. He waited for her body to relax again, to ease into his touch. She moaned, and he felt the muscles in her thigh release, her other leg falling away, and he moved to kiss her there as well.

He looked up then, because he had to see her, had to _know_. She was Gaby, and he knew she’d stop him if she didn’t want it, but he had to be sure. Her eyes locked onto his, inky black in the darkened room, and he watched her mouth fall open in pleasure as he brought his mouth to her, kissing her intimately and tasting her in a way he had only barely allowed himself to fantasize about.

He warmed her here as he had at her breasts: delicate, circling touches with lips and tongue, the tip of his nose, working slowly inward. Reading her body’s response to each, learning what she liked, what drew her further into the throes of need and arousal. Gaby groaned and arched her body, hand in his hair again, and Illya let himself forget. For those moments, he let himself forget what this really was. Pressed into the mattress, his cock was rock hard and throbbing, and he didn’t try to ignore it. Gaby twisted beneath him, and he moved with her, steadied her, lost himself in her gratification, the sounds she made and the way she called his name.

He dragged his fingers down, using one to tease her entrance, test her readiness. She whimpered, pleaded with him for more. He never imagined her like this, begging, allowing him reign. He had imagined her ruling the moment, demanding he fulfill her. Instead, she was asking, entreating. It shook him, challenged him in a way he had not foreseen.

Desperate to give her everything he could, he pushed a finger slowly inside where she was hot and soft and wet. She cried out this time, unmuffled, and shunted her hips into his touch. Heart pounding, he added a second, sliding them both into her as he finally honed his mouth to the center of her pleasure.

Gaby arched and bucked and rolled her hips. He steadied her as much as he could and rode with her through the rest, mouth and fingers driving her upward to that peak until she was sailing over it, her body drawing tight, bowing off the mattress. He felt and tasted her release and tried to absorb it into himself, to hold onto it in the morning. He had given her this, and, though it may gut him to have this memory and nothing more, it was his now to keep forever.

She fell back to the bed, heaving for breath, her body going limp, and he left her with a few more soothing kisses before pulling away. He licked his lips and wiped them on the sheets. It was over. His body was thrumming, aching with need, but it would go unanswered. The biting agony in his chest superseded the rest.

He retreated from Gaby, sliding to his side of the bed, but she followed him, lining her body to his side and pressing a kiss beneath his jaw that burned at his sensitized skin. She was warm and pliant, mollified after her orgasm, and she hummed as she ran a hand over his stomach.

“Where are you going?” she teased. “We’re not finished.” Her fingertips played at the skin above his waistband, and his cock lurched painfully.

“Gaby.” Her name was barely a collection of broken, jagged sounds. Desperation clawed at him from both sides. He should go to the bathroom and deal with his body, but he couldn’t pull himself away from her.

She bit her lip as her hand slipped beneath the fabric, taking hold of him and a cry tore from his throat, pathetic and needy. He stiffened, clenching his jaw.

“ _Wait._ ”

A distressed supplication. He might have been embarrassed if there had been room for anything other than longing and heartbreak inside him. The sound seemed to get through to Gaby, who raised herself up to look at him.

“What’s going on?”

His jaw was tight. _All of him_ was painfully tight. He wasn't sure he was breathing. “I can’t—” there was a weight on his chest he couldn’t lift, shackles wrapping around his ribs. _“I can’t do this.”_ He exhaled the words, and the weight eased, the bindings loosened. The wash of relief was followed quickly by the next fear. Gaby’s reaction.

Her eyes searched his face, her own mien suddenly unreadable. Her hand was still around his cock, and the flex of her finger sent a jolt of ragged need slicing up his spine.

“What do you mean?” It was not quite a demand, and something in her voice almost registered as... fragile? But that couldn’t be the case. Gaby wasn’t fragile. He tried to see beyond her mask, but she was keeping him out.

He reached down and removed her hand from him, bringing it to his lips for a kiss before settling it on his chest. She stared at their hands, her fingers curling in the hair on his chest.

“It is fine,” he tried to assure her. “Do not worry about me.” He was breathless and entirely unconvincing.

Gaby’s chin tilted upward. “Is there someone else back home? Is there–”

“No!” It was almost a shout. He had not seen that question coming.

“Then why?” Her eyes were hot on his now, and he saw anger fueled by pain. It gutted him. “Why, Illya? Tell me why you can’t do this.” She yanked her hand from his hold and grabbed his erection through his clothing. He grunted at the harsh treatment, the jangle of pain and pleasure it sent along his nerves. “Because clearly, the problem isn’t physical.”

He was undone. Hot and cold and lost. Lost in her touch, in the bite of her voice that couldn’t hide what he saw in her eyes. Somehow, despite everything, he had _hurt_ her. How could he let that stand?

He sucked in a breath. He knew he was shaking.

“ _Iloveyou,_ ” he exhaled in a rush, and it was a release all its own. How many times had he thought the words, held them on the tip of his tongue? How many times had he skirted the edge of them in languages she didn’t understand? “I love you, Gaby, and I can’t do this and have it mean nothing the way you want.”

She became a statue. For a heartbeat—two, three, four—she was unmoving. She said nothing. Then a frown pulled her lovely brows together. It did little to mar her beauty. She brought her eyes to his, her gaze probing, questioning. He didn’t know what she saw or what she was searching for. He didn't know anything at all.

She bit her lip, dropping her head as she moved, raising herself further onto his chest, settling her weight on top of him. The feel of her body aligned with his stole the air from his lungs, his heart racing. Her hands cupped his cheeks as she took his face between them. When their eyes met again, there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Are you really this blind?”

“What?” He blinked, his hands taking her wrists on instinct, but he wasn’t sure if it was to pull them away or hold her there. He stared back into those fathomless eyes. He had often wished to see what was going on behind Gaby’s eyes, the dark mystery they always were. He wasn’t sure he could believe what he saw there now.

“Illya.” She leaned in and pressed her forehead to his. “How can you not know?” She shook her head with their skin still connected.

“Gaby, I–” A spark of hope tried to ignite, but he yanked it back.

She lifted her head again, and her words cut him off. “ _Ich liebe dich auch, du dummer Mann._ ”

He wasn’t expecting the German, and it took a second longer for his brain to switch over, translate the words. His eyes widened, his voice much weaker than he would be comfortable with if he had the capacity to care. _“Was?”_

She sighed, her shoulders rising and falling as she took him in. Her hands were still cupping his face, and her gaze fell to his lips a moment before she bent forward and kissed him. A slow, tender brush of her lips that stole his breath, his thoughts, his very will.

 

Illya’s mouth was warm beneath hers, warm and _stiff_. His whole body was stiff—a mass of trembling, taut lines that she didn’t know how to soothe. She hadn’t known, hadn’t realized...

She had taken his earlier hesitation for rejection, but it hadn't been that at all. It had been an attempt at self-preservation.

Hadn't she been doing the same? Trying to protect herself? Only she had also been trying to sample the things she wanted without giving herself away. She should have known, _had known_ deep inside, that Illya just wasn't built that way.

The thought ricocheted around inside her, spiraling to a gut-wrenching conclusion. Illya had been willing to give her what she needed, even when it was breaking him apart inside. God, she was a fool! Of course he would lay himself down, put aside what he wanted to fortify her, give her what she needed.

 _He loved her_.

So now it was her turn to sacrifice.

She withdrew from the unreturned kiss, pulling back so she could see his entire face. She wasn’t immediately ready to meet his eye, so she studied his lips instead, wiped a thumb over the lower one. His heart was pounding in his chest, laid out beneath hers, and she brought her hands to rest above that rhythm. When she managed to lift her eyes to his, she found him staring at her, searching, unsteady. She couldn’t hold his gaze.

“I love you too,” she repeated, toying with the hair beneath her fingers. The words burned in her throat. How long had she pushed them down, tried to cover them up, or downplay them with reason and excuses? Now, she felt like she was cracking herself open. Exposed and vulnerable. She did love him, had loved him, for far longer than she wanted to admit, even to herself. “It was stupid of me to say it meant nothing... I love you and... it means everything, Illya.”

He pulled in a shaky breath, his ribs expanding against hers. “This is the truth?”

Her eyes flashed up to see him frowning. Hurt arced through her and it manifested as fury as she drew back further. “You think I would say that to you? Confess all of that as—as a lie!?” She tried to move away from him, but suddenly his arms were holding her. “You think I would try to trick you, just so you would—” her words were cut off as he rolled her beneath him, one arm locked around her waist, the other bringing his hand up to cup her jaw as he kissed her. She shoved at his shoulder and struggled in his grip, but he didn’t let her go, sliding his lips to her cheek, her jaw, and tucking in behind her ear.

 _“Vergib mir,”_ he said, his breath hot on her skin, his voice a vibration of bass. The sensation reminded her that she was naked, her skin against his. _“Ich bin ein dummer Mann.”_

His words seeped into her, even as he kissed that sensitive place, and she relaxed into the weight of him, that bared part of her soothed, not because it was safe, but because they were both exposed— _together_.

She took hold of his head and pulled him up where she could see him. She saw the anxiousness there, all his fear. _“Ein sehr dummer Mann.”_ She lifted up to kiss him, pressing her lips to his, slow and careful.

There was a split-second delay in his response, and then he was kissing her back. A soft, tender, assuaging thing. When they drew back, Gaby licked her lips and looked into his eyes. She could see the blue this close, even in the dim light, and it steadied her. This was Illya, despite all the things that would try to tell her it was impossible, all the things that would caution her against such an idea—his nationality, his career, his temper—she was in love with him. And he was in love with her too. For now, that was all she needed.

“Now,” she whispered. “Say it again.”

His eyes widened a moment, then a smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I love you,” he replied, deep and unhurried this time.

Gaby smiled back and ran the pad of her thumb over his chin, gaze falling to his lips. “Not so stupid then.”

It was difficult to say who kissed who after that. Illya’s mouth was perfect, his arms wrapped around her tightly, one hand cupping the back of her head as he held her to him. Their kisses were gentle at first, a balm, a reassurance, each one slowly sinking into the other more with each press of their lips. Gaby sighed, opening her mouth and Illya swept his tongue inside. She pushed back, challenging the dominance, and he groaned. 

One of his hands slid down, dragging fingers over her spine to curve over her ass, tugging her in closer, and she was reminded that he was still hard. He hadn’t come. She still had that to look forward to. The thought was like a zephyr of oxygen on the embers of desire inside her. Her body recalled the orgasm he’d given her: the exquisite detail of the climb, his attention, his patience, and gasped at the intensity of arousal reigniting, sharp and electric.

She pushed against him, and he rolled to his back, bringing her to rest on top of him again but didn’t stop kissing her. Gaby kissed him back fiercely, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and pulling it as she drew back, giving it a tender bite before releasing. He followed her, trying to recapture her lips, and she teased him with soft brushes, their breath mingling as she dodged, never letting his mouth settle on hers. She ducked to the side and kissed his jaw, feeling the day’s stubble against her lips, tasting it with her tongue. She moved down, kissing his neck, the crook of his shoulder, and he sighed her name.

“Illya?” Her voice was hoarse, dry, revealing her desperation. She licked at his collarbone before rising up to look at him. “I’m the only one who’s naked.”

She smiled at his intake of air, the feel of his body responding against her thigh. Kissing her way down his chest, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his bottoms, the elastic of his briefs. Her eyes found his again to ask permission, and he nodded, reaching down to help her. He pushed at the sides as Gaby carefully lifted the material over his erection, greedily taking in the sight of him. His cock was as beautiful as the rest of him, an impossibility, and Gaby held her desire to taste him at bay until they’d stripped him of his clothes, and he was gloriously, completely bared to her.

Straddling his legs, Gaby climbed over him, stopping to kiss the hollow of his hip, which made him twitch. She smiled and bit her lip.

“Can I make love to you now, Illya?”

He huffed out a breath, surprised and needy, and reached for her. She intercepted his hand and kissed his palm, brushed her lips over the ridge of his thumb as she shook her head. She set his hand on his stomach and wrapped her fingers around his erection. He sucked in at her touch, and Gaby held his gaze. “Like you did to me.” She stroked her thumb over him as she watched his face. He seemed stunned, his mouth falling open as she repeated the act.

“ _Gaby_ ,” he managed to croak out, and swallowed. It was really all the consent she needed. She ducked her head and took him into her mouth, sucking softly at first to help mitigate the shock. Illya’s response was a choked-off shout, and it thrilled through her. She slid him deeper and peered upward to watch him toss his head back, watch the muscle in his jaw flex as he clenched his teeth.

Taking her time, Gaby let herself enjoy her work. The way the hand on his stomach balled into a fist, the tremble in his thighs, the sounds he tried to repress. Her own belly flinched with increased desire, and she felt torn between bringing him to climax just like this, seeing him fall apart beneath the focus of her mouth or to have him, _finally_ , inside her.

Her name was spilling from his lips like a prayer, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing. “Gaby,” he ground out, a hand finally reaching out to touch her, and she moaned around him at the spike of need it brought. He swore, fingers pushing into her hair. _“_ Please _. Wait._ ” Breathless, beggared, the sound of his voice made it that much more difficult for her to heed him. She wanted to make him come. Push him over the edge and watch him shatter. “I want–”

Gaby pulled off quickly, before she could change her mind, and listened to him whimper. “Yes,” she agreed without hearing anymore, moving up his body to hold his face and kiss him. “Me too. I want that too.”

He looked unmoored, panting for breath in a way she had never seen, even after a hard run.

“What did I say?” His hands were already on her, one cupping her bottom, the other drifting up to cradle the back of her head.

“That you want to be inside me,” Gaby said, a little sly. Illya kissed her again, hugging her tight.

“Yes,” he growled, nodding, kissing her chin and neck. Gaby claimed his mouth again, diving inside, taking his tongue. One of Illya’s arms fastened around her as he shifted his position, resting against the pillows, his shoulders against the headboard.

Gaby pulled away, and his hands rushed up over her sides, reaching immediately for her breasts again, cupping them and gliding his thumbs over her nipples. She couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped her throat. Reaching between them, she took him in hand and lifted herself up, watched his gaze fall to that place as she tried to position him to enter her. He was large, and the angle wasn’t quite right. Gaby swallowed down the bolt of desperation she felt when he reached down to help her. “Illya,” she murmured.

One of his hands caught her hip, guiding her, and she brought her attention to his face. She placed both hands on his shoulders and stood fully to her knees, leaning forward over him. He looked up into her eyes as he set himself at her entrance. Gaby bit her lip at the feel of him there and watched in wonder as his mouth went slack, his eyelids falling to half-mast as she slid down, taking him partly inside her.

With eyes locked, they joined together, Gaby’s teeth so deep into her lip, it brought pain. That pain kept her present, or she was sure she would have lost her sense at the feel of him filling her. Illya groaned and grabbed her other hip, adjusting the angle and sliding her down that final inch, and she threw her head back as she moaned. “ _Gott, yes!_ Illya, _Illya._ ”

 

Illya clenched his teeth at the feel of Gaby surrounding him. The wet heat of her, the clasp and flex of her inner muscles as she accepted him. He huffed out a breath as he tried to rein in his wayward body. The attentions of her mouth had brought him perilously close to the edge, and the thought of it now, with her wrapped around him, was almost too much. As she cried out his name, he brought an arm down around her hips and held her tightly to him, pressing his face into her chest as he tried to get himself back under control. He wanted to make love to her, please her, not lose himself before things had even begun.

He brought one of her nipples into his mouth, absorbed the catch of her breath, and felt her body respond from the inside. Gaby’s hands moved from his shoulders to his head, running her fingers through his hair, holding him close for several beats and then pushing him away. His eyes lifted to hers, and she smiled as she cupped his cheeks. “We waited way too long to do this,” she whispered and pulled him in for a kiss as she rolled her hips. He groaned into it, the sweet sensation of her body moving over his, racing up his spine. She did it again, and he flexed up into it, meeting her thrust and matching her rhythm.

Illya caught Gaby’s soft whimpers as they kissed, easing into the tempo as their bodies grew accustomed to each other. He tugged at her hips, angling her against his pelvic bone, and she gasped as it put pressure right where she needed it. She grasped his shoulders and increased her pace, a sound of pleasure falling from her lips. He watched her eyes slide closed then open again, locking on to his. She mewled and said his name, her voice breaking on a choked cry as she came, her body trembling against his. He basked in the bliss that clouded her eyes, the flush of her cheeks. He helped her keep the motion of her hips, wanting to keep her there as long as possible and because it felt far too good to stop. Her voice rang out in the room, her nails dug into his skin, and he reveled in it. How long had he forbidden himself to dream of this?

He didn’t stop, even as her body went limp in his arms. He took her against him and held her, kissed her temple and kept their rhythm. Illya curved an arm around her shoulders and slid a hand down to the base of her spine, pulling her in tight as he continued to move inside her. She moaned into his neck and bit him, making him falter.

“Don’t stop,” she insisted, her voice a tremor on his skin.

He lost his breath, whimpered her name and thrust harder, snapping his hips up, until the headboard smacked into the wall, the sound firing through him like a gunshot.

Gaby pulled back when he stilled, pushing up with her hands on his chest. “What?”

He shook his head, gasping for air and grabbed one of the extra pillows, shoving it into the space between the wall and the bed. He took her hips and tugged her down again, his body aching for the delay. She grinned and leaned in to kiss him, reaching up to remove the pillow. He watched with wide eyes as she tossed it aside.

“Let him hear,” she said and shunted down into the cradle of his hips.

“Gaby,” he choked, the sensation of her body challenging his ability to care about anything else. Her response was to push her hands against his chest and start up a brutal rhythm of her own, shunting her hips over his until he groaned and pressed his head back against the dark wood behind him.

“ _O Bozhe_ ,” he ground out as she increased her pace. The feel of her around and over him, the sight of her body, smooth skin, soft, small breasts that bounced with each thrust, the sight of her smile... Gaby was smiling, biting her lip, looking into his eyes, and he was inside of her.

“You made me come twice now, Illya,” she observed, her voice coy. “Did you like it? Did you enjoy watching me fall apart for you?”

He exhaled heavily at the rush of pleasure those words, the memory they evoked, washed over him. She raised an eyebrow. She expected him to answer? He swallowed and opened his mouth but only a whine escaped. His fingers flexed on her hips, working with her rhythm now, the sound of the headboard and wall meeting completely lost to him. “Yes,” he groaned. “Yes, I enjoyed it.”

Her face sobered, and she changed the angle of her thrusts. “Good,” she said, breath hitching. “Now, it’s my turn. Come for me, Illya.”

He wanted to believe he would have come anyway. He had been so close, his body racing for that finish, but at her command the orgasm slammed into him hard. Gasping, he clutched her hip and held her as he flexed up into the heat of her body, rushing out a string of words he couldn’t even hear past the blood rushing in his head, the hot, pulsing ecstasy of release. When it was over, he collapsed back to earth, and Gaby was there, gently stroking his face.

Panting for breath, he tried to kiss her, but it was sloppy, too relaxed. She smiled and kissed him instead. “Yes,” she said softly. “I can see why you would like that. In fact, I want to see it again.”

He huffed out a laugh, even as his arousal tried to stir. “I love a greedy woman.”

Her smile widened at his words, and she ran a thumb over his lower lip. “You should be greedier.”

“Hmmm.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I will show you greedy,” he growled and rolled her beneath him. She laughed as he nuzzled into her neck and started kissing down her chest.

“Illya, where are you going?”

“I am going to start again at the beginning.” Last time, he’d been trapped in anguish for what couldn’t be, now that he knew where he stood, he wanted to taste her again.

“What?” Gaby gasped as he sucked at her skin.

“I think you heard me,” he replied and parted her legs, sinking his mouth onto her with a possessive groan.

...

Solo sat back against his own headboard. “Well, that’s done,” he announced with a smirk, self-satisfaction oozing from every pore. It had taken some serious manipulation to get it done, but he had done it.

“You are the devil,” Daria remarked from her pillow. Her hair a disarray, lips still kiss-swollen. He’d done a pretty good job on her as well.

“Oh no.” He held up a finger, sliding down to an elbow to be closer to her. “The Devil works hard, but _I_ work harder.”

She scoffed. “You realize that almost didn’t go how you wanted it to.”

Solo thought of the non-pleasured shouting he’d heard from the other room and a niggle of guilt prodded at him, but his face showed only smooth charm and confidence. “Please, these two have been on the edge of—” he quickly checked himself, remembering the mission. “They _love_ each other.” He hoped the word sounded sincere. “And I had to do something. Just a little push to… remind them. That they love each other.”

“Is that so?”

“That is so.” Solo reached over and pushed some of her hair off her face and then ran his fingers over her shoulder. She really did have very soft skin. “Especially, Peril.”

“Peril?”

Solo shook his head. “Nickname. They’ve been impossible to live with.”

Her expression was skeptical. “And you think this will help?”

“Obviously.”

The smack of a headboard and a loud, female moan carried through the wall, and they both looked up.

“Well,” Daria sighed. “He’s about to show you up because there she goes again.”

Solo frowned at the wall. Damn. Peril’s skills were apparently more honed than he had thought. He turned back to Daria and took her by the hip, bringing her closer and slightly under him. “Well, _that_ ,” he said darkly. “Will never do.”

...

 

An aura of peace was the first thing Gaby became aware of as her mind drifted into wakefulness. Next, was the heat and sensation of Illya’s body wrapped around hers. His face was tucked to her shoulder, his arms around her but slack. She had flung a leg over his hip, entangled with him like every other morning that week. Only this time, they were naked. They were naked, and she remembered _why_. 

She drew in that first, deep breath of waking and the scent of him came with it. The warm musk of his body soothing in a way that still surprised her. She had grown somewhat accustomed to the lure of desire his presence always brought, but this was something altogether different, something she hadn’t realized could be found in another person. _Rest._

And now that things between them were out in the open, that feeling enfolded her as his body did, bringing with it the sweet pang of belonging. The thing she had most feared and most wanted, all in one.

Shifting back a bit so she could see his face, she let her hands drift over the skin of his back beneath the sheet and quilts that covered them. In his sleep, Gaby imagined she could see in his face, the child he had once been. No furrow in his brow, no careful calculation in his eyes, just long lashes resting on sleep-flushed cheeks, a relaxed jaw and soft mouth resting against her skin.

Her exhale was shaky as the sense of what she felt for him expanded inside her, reminding her of its breadth and width, the deep, all-encompassing fullness of her love for him rushing out to every part of her until all she could do was keep breathing and accept it. _Illya._ She wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go.

She thought of his words last night, his desperate confession, and her heart did the most ridiculous flip-flop inside her chest. Biting her lip, she chastised herself for being a sentimental fool and ran her fingers through his mussed hair.

The memory also brought a flash of lust, her body remembering the ways they had come together the night before, and with that came the realization that she needed to pee.

With regret, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and moved to disentangle them. Illya inhaled, his body tensing as his arms closed around her.

“No,” he muttered, a grunt of sleep-graveled baritone. He tucked her right back against him and she laughed, shuffling down to be face to face.

“No?”

“No. You are always running off in the mornings,” he grumbled. “Now there is no need.”

“Me?” She drew back to give him an affronted glare, though her heart wasn’t in it. “You were flying out the other side of the bed just as fast as I was.”

Illya hummed, his gaze sweeping over her face and then down to where their bodies met. “To keep from doing what I am doing right now.”

“And what is that?”

His focus returned to her face, eyes settling on hers. “Not letting you go.”

Gaby drew in a deep breath and kissed him, sinking into the warmth of his mouth, the softness of him in this early morning embrace. He kissed her back, so tenderly it ached. When she pulled away, she pressed her forehead to his, her eyes still closed, bringing a hand up to caress the side of his face, morning stubble grazing her palm.

“Illya,” she murmured, and there was something in saying it, some resonant power she couldn’t place, something that meant he belonged to her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

There was a hitch and then a rush of exhale, his shoulders relaxing as he pulled back to look into her eyes. They danced between hers, so blue in the early light. “Neither am I.”

Gaby smiled at him. Certainly, they still had a lot to figure out, but for this moment, it was enough.

“Except,” she said slowly because it really was becoming necessary now. “To the bathroom.” The statement surprised him, and his brow furrowed. Gaby laughed and kissed it from him.

“Illya, I have to pee!”

 

Gaby hurried her way through a bathroom routine, brushing her teeth and running her finger through her hair. She didn’t want to be away from Illya any longer than was needed. Knowing him, his insecurities were already kicking in. It was going to take some time to prove to him he was everything to her that she had confessed. Probably more. She laughed softly at the idea, and her attention caught on her own face. 

The flush of her cheeks and the light in her eyes. Where had that easiness come from? Sex? No. No, she didn’t think it was the sex. Well, not _only_ the sex. It was the letting go, opening up to Illya. As time had gone by, she’d fastened things down tighter and tighter, convinced she was keeping them both safe. Now all of that tension was lifted.

She bit her lip. This wasn’t going to be easy, but they would take it on together. It had been a long time since there had been someone she would trust to have her back in her personal life, but Illya... he always had her covered. She smiled again and ducked her head, moving toward the door as she thought of him waiting for her back in their room. It wa still early. They had some time...

Lost in thought, she hurried from the bathroom on light feet and nearly collided with someone making their way down the hall. Both stumbled back from each other, and Gaby looked up to see a tall woman with dark hair just visible in the gloom. She was wearing a wrinkled cocktail dress, had her stockings in hand and her heels clutched against her chest. Gaby thought she seemed familiar.

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed in a hushed tone. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Gaby assured. “I guess it’s what we get for sneaking around in the wee hours of the morning. My thoughts were elsewhere.”

“Like hurrying back to a husband waiting in your bed?”

Having someone refer to Illya as her husband, though it had happened hundreds of times now over the course of many missions, felt very different in light of recent events. Gaby inhaled at the very girly reaction she felt, as well as the small spark of embarrassment. It was one thing to let Solo hear them, but quite another to face down a complete stranger who had also probably been listening.

Of course, Gaby had heard her as well.

“Yes.” Gaby turned back toward her bedroom door. “There is that.”

“Better than stealing away before the sun comes up.”

Gaby heard the hint of shame and, without thought, set a hand on the woman’s arm. “First of all, nothing wrong with having some fun,” she told her. “And secondly, you could stay for breakfast. Consider yourself invited.”

The woman—she was a bartender from down the street Gaby finally realized—tilted her head and looked at Gaby for a moment. “I appreciate that, very much, but I’ve got a cat to feed back home.”

“Safe travels then.” Gaby smiled and started to move off down the hall.

“Hey” the other woman called, just above a whisper now. “There is something you should probably know.”

 

Illya felt a slow rise of anxiety every moment that Gaby was gone. He knew, somewhere in his mind, that he was being foolish, but things were still so new, and everything had happened so quickly. It was difficult to believe it was real when she wasn’t right there with him.

He had just decided to go find her, swinging out of bed and pulling on his pajama bottoms, when Gaby came back in through the door. He turned, gladness swelling instantly in his chest, and found her with a hand fisted on her hips, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparking with annoyance. She was beautiful like that but also mildly terrifying.

He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong even as his mind started filing through everything that had happened recently that might indicate her ire was aimed at him. She spoke before he could.

“Wait until you hear what I just found out.”

 

...

 

Solo made his way into the living room dressed to the nines. Classic cut suit in a modern pattern and his lucky cufflinks. He was met with the aroma of coffee and toasting bread, a scent that warmed even as it bothered him. They were awake?

As he stepped into the living room, he paused at the sight of the sofa, which was overturned and certainly not how he had left it when he’d taken Daria through last night.

He continued toward the kitchen, where there was a quiet exchange of voices, but side-eyed the sofa one more time, noting the bottom dust cover had been slashed and ripped aside, revealing the doctored support beam beneath. He winced at the mess. He’d worked very hard to replace that piece of material properly.

A mild sense of foreboding tried to settle in his mind, but he brushed it away. How bad could it be? He had _heard_ them last night. Two people who had that many orgasms together could not possibly be grumpy the morning after.

When he stepped through the door, he found Illya and Gaby on opposite sides of the room. Illya was slicing meats near the coffee pot, Gaby toasting bread on the opposite side of the sink. Solo frowned. This was already too similar to other mornings. He didn’t understand.

Both were fully dressed as if they’d been up for some time. Illya was wearing his customary uniform of black turtleneck and gray slacks, hiding any evidence last night’s breakthrough might have left behind. Gaby was wearing an apron over a belted mini dress in autumn gold with striped, multi-colored sleeves. No love bites to be seen on her exposed neck; however, he fully expected their Soviet partner to be cautious of such things.

Neither of them turned when he entered, so he took the greetings upon himself. “Good morning.”

Gaby scoffed.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

The German woman applied him with that biting smile of hers, an expression that had always impressed him with how much like a smile it really was while also insinuating she would take a piece right off the bone of whoever she bestowed it on. “No no, you just sit down. _Relax._ ”

With the table already set, he chose the closest chair and took a seat, cautiously glancing between his two partners. Had they messed things up already? “I hadn’t thought you two would be up.” he remarked, preparing to broach the subject with them.

“Because you kept us up all night with your antics?” Illya asked, bringing a cup of coffee over and setting it down near him. Solo flicked his gaze from Gaby to the towering Russian leaning toward him. Illya gave him that flat, taunting smile before drawing back up to his full height.

“I’m sorry,” Solo said. “ _My_ antics? You—” his mouth was open, finger in the air, ready to continue when Gaby smacked a pile of toast onto his plate. He closed his mouth and scowled at it. “It’s burned.”

Gaby studied the blackened bread. “Is it?”

Solo narrowed his eyes. Illya was sipping at his coffee, Gaby was arranging the meat he had sliced onto a board with some cheese. They didn’t make physical contact or share so much as a look between them.

“You know, I expected you two to be in a better mood this morning.”

“Oh?” Illya commented, setting down his coffee. He settled himself against the edge of the counter, crossing his ankles and folding his arms over his chest. “And why is that?”

Solo picked up a piece of burned toast and used the available knife to swipe butter across the dark top. “I think you know exactly why.”

“Because you kept us up all night with your friend?” Gaby asked, plunking down the breakfast board hard enough that several cherry tomatoes bounced off and rolled across the tablecloth. She leaned in on one hand. “Or because you sabotaged the sofa?”

Taking a bite of his toast and managing not to grimace at the acrid tang of it, he gave her a close-mouthed smile. He chewed slowly, swallowed and looked her right in the eye. “Because you and Peril finally consummated this thing between you, and that usually puts one in good spirits.”

Illya made an offended sound. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We are partners. That would be unprofessional.” Solo glanced from Gaby to Illya who was shaking his head. “Much like bringing women back to the apartment every night, different woman each time, in the middle of a mission. Is asking for trouble.”

Solo released a huff of a laugh as Gaby pushed off the table and went back to the counter. Illya set out some jams and spreads before pulling out a chair and taking a seat.

“Nice try, you two.” Solo shook his head. “But I _heard_ you.”

“Heard us?” Gaby offered, spinning back with a pitcher of orange juice in her hands. She flicked a look at Illya, the first Solo had seen since entering the room, then returned her attention to him. “You mean like this? ‘ _Oh Gott, Illya! Ja! Genau so!’_ ” she moaned, and then proceeded to give a very impressive imitation of an orgasm. Solo’s eyebrows lifted into his hairline. Across the table, Illya shifted in his seat. “Did it sound like that?” she asked when she had finished, proceeding to set down the orange juice and take her seat as if it was all the most natural thing to do.

Solo didn’t respond but turned to Illya. The Russian had started to nonchalantly place pieces of meat and cheese onto his perfectly golden toast, but there was a redness at the tips of his ears. He gave a shrug of his shoulders and sat back, lifting the open face sandwich to his mouth. “We decided to—” he paused as if checking his words over. “To ‘Give you some of your own back’ I think it is said.”

Solo watched Illya take a bite, looked to Gaby who was assembling her own foods, then back to Illya. No. This was a lie. Gaby might be difficult to read, but he could definitely see the ease of tension in those Russian shoulders. If they had been playacting last night, surely that tension would be worse, not better.

“I don’t believe you.”

Gaby shrugged. “That doesn’t sound like my problem.”

“You should eat,” Illya observed. “You have a meeting with that buyer in forty-five minutes.

Solo pulled back his sleeve to reveal his watch. Damn. “All right,” he said, lifting his cup of coffee. “But we are definitely not finished talking about this.” He took a big sip of the dark liquid, certain it would have cooled off enough by now to allow for such a move. His mouth was filled with a sharp, bitter flavor he hadn’t expected and couldn’t place. He stopped short of spitting it out like a fool, and swallowed it down. His voice was tight, choking when he asked, “What the hell did you put in my coffee, Peril?”

Illya took an unconcerned sip of his own coffee, face far too innocent. “Just a little something to dampen your... urges.” 

Solo gave him a look somewhere between ‘ _lost_ ’ and ‘ _done with this shit_.’ “And what would that be?”

Illya opened his mouth but Gaby cut him off. “My birth control pills.”

Solo shoved back from the table and stood to his feet, sending his chair clattering to the floor in an attempt to put the offending coffee as far from him as possible. Straightening slowly, he ran a hand over his tie as he worked to compose himself. Once he had managed to regain his poise, he lifted his gaze to his partners. He would get his revenge on them, but it was going to require some very careful thought. 

“I think I’ll get coffee on my way to the meet.” He glanced from one to the other, pointing at them. “Don’t think for a minute that you’ve fooled me.”

He turned and left the room, tossing one more look at the sofa as he went. Maybe he should have had Daria stay for breakfast.

 

Once Solo was gone, a genuine smile broke over Gaby’s face as she laughed silently. Under the table she reached over and set her hand on Illya’s knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. A moment later, his hand settled over hers, wrapping it up inside.

The click of the front door sounded a moment later, and Gaby leaned forward as if to catch a peek but the angle was wrong. She took a sip of her coffee. Illya finished off his toast in one bite. They shared a long, subtly tender look.

“What did you put in his coffee?” she asked. “Obviously _not_ my birth control. I’m going to _need_ that.” She jiggled his knee.

The reference to their continued sex life brought a hint of a blush to his cheeks, but he wiped his mouth on his napkin and answered. “Baking soda. He might get a stomach ache but nothing else.”

Gaby laughed again. “Probably for the best. As trying as he can be occasionally, all that virile masculinity does come in handy sometimes.”

Illya frowned.

“What? What is that look?”

He gave a small shake of his head. “Is nothing.”

Gaby turned her hand in his where they rested on his thigh, not taking her eyes off him. He was once again stacking slices of meat on his plate, not looking at her. She ran her thumb over his knuckles. “No, no, we’re not doing that. Just tell me.”

His frown deepened as he fiddled with his bread. “You were very convincing,” he offered before finally bringing his focus to her face, his own blue-eyed and open.

There was a moment before Gaby responded, then she shook her own head and looked up at the ceiling. “ _Really?_ ”

“I–”

Gaby pushed back from the table and stood up, releasing his hand and climbing into his lap, forcing him to slide his chair back as well. She straddled his thighs, her skirt hiking up as she settled against him. “I am going to choose not to take that the wrong way.”

Illya’s frown changed to something thoughtful, then his eyes widened. “Gaby–” he started, sounding remorseful. She kissed it off him, whatever he was about to say, cupping his face and pressing her mouth to his, repeating the gesture several times.

“Illya?” She bent forward and kissed one side of his neck, and he released a quiet gasp, his hands coming up to hold her hips. “Did you ever consider instead,” she began as she moved to kiss the other side. “That I was _inspired_?” She ran her lips softly over his skin to the sensitive spot behind his ear. “I certainly couldn’t have put on that performance without knowing what it was like beforehand, now could I?”

Illya’s hands left her hips and seized her face, bringing her back into his eyeline. “Perhaps I should offer you more inspiration then.” 

Gaby leaned back and raised a brow at him. “Here?” she asked teasingly. “In the kitchen?”

“No,” he grumbled, voice rugged and deep. He pushed his chair all the way back and stood to his feet with her in his arms, one hand firmly over her behind under her hitched-up skirt. She laughed at the suddenness of the move and kissed him some more, blocking his view as he carried her across the kitchen and out into the living room, only knocking over one other chair on the way.

They were halfway across the room when the front door clicked open, and Solo stepped back inside. Everyone stopped for a moment, frozen in place, Illya’s lips on Gaby’s throat, her fingers in his hair, Solo standing with the door wide open.

With a broad, Cheshire-like grin, their partner closed the door behind him and turned on them with knowing eyes. “Ah ha,” he said flatly.

“I,” Gaby began, taking a moment to clear her throat. “I wasn’t feeling well. Illya is putting me to bed.”

“I can see that.” Solo slid a hand into his pocket, gesturing with the other. “And the, uh, mouth on the neck thing?”

Illya growled and started walking again. “Checking her temperature. Is Russian custom. Don’t question my methods.”

Solo raised both eyebrows.

“He is just taking _care_ of me like a good partner,” Gaby explained with utter seriousness.

“Partners, sure,” Solo offered. “Sounds reasonable.”

Illya’s voice carried from down the hall. “Don’t you have a meeting to get to, Cowboy?” 

“I forgot my case” he called back. A moment later, said case came flying at him. He caught it easily and chuckled to himself at the sound of a bedroom door closing on Gaby’s laugh.

“Well done, Solo,” he muttered to the empty room. “There may actually be no living with them now, and you have only yourself to blame.”

With one more look to where his partners had disappeared, he slipped back out the front door with a smile on his face. _Someone_ had to worry about the mission.

 

The End

 


End file.
